Page 31 of Hidden Echoes

But the dream is still there, coiling in my skull. The screams, the echoes—I can’t tell what’s more real.

Mia steps closer, her gaze flicking to my sketchbook. She studies the lines in quiet curiosity.

“That’s Medusa, isn’t it?” Her voice is soft, hesitant.

I follow her stare. Medusa’s face emerges from the shadows of the page, her expression not just rage, but something deeper. Something hollow.

"Yes, it's Medusa," I murmur, my throat dry. "A lot of survivors of sexual abuse get that tattoo. A symbol of strength. Of taking back their power."

Mia frowns. “Sexual abuse?”

My stomach knots. I watch her for a long second before exhaling, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s when someone touches you without your consent. When you don’t want them to.”

She blinks, as if absorbing the words. Her gaze shifts, looking past me—past the room—at something far away. Something I can’t see.

“That’s ironic,” she murmurs. “My body was never mine to choose. I was born to serve my future husband. Or my master.”

A slow, dull ache spreads through my chest.

Then she looks up at me, searching, her voice barely above a whisper.

“So you’re telling me they were wrong?”

I stare at her. My throat tightens, something thick and suffocating lodged there.

I don’t know why it takes me so long to answer.

But when I do, my voice is hoarse.

“Yes, Mia. They were wrong.”

“You don’t have to look at me like that.”

Her words pull me back. I would blink if I wasn’t so tangled in my own thoughts.

I frown. “Like what?”

“Like I’m in pain,” she says simply. Her tone is light, too light, like what we’re talking about isn’t anything heavy. “I’m fine. I’m happy to be traveling.”

And then she smiles.

It’s so pure. So genuine. And it nearly breaks me in half.

Not because I pity her.

But because they spent years hammering it into her that this is normal. That this is okay.

To the point where she doesn’t even recognize howfucked upit is.

A slow burn rises in my chest. Anger. Sadness. Something I don’t have a name for.

Mia studies me, her wide eyes filled with confusion. “You look angry. Did I say something wrong?”

I take a breath. Let it out slowly. Try to force the tension from my shoulders before answering.

“No, Mia. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I manage a smile.

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